My Life in Black and White
by Honoria Glossop
Summary: A short story about letting go of the ones you love.


Disclaimer: Hmm...it doesn't seem to me that I mention anyone's real name. :) Any implied characters belong to JK Rowling. 

**Author's Note: Wow. This story came about when I was bored. I was writing an email to Cassandra Claire, and began to tell myself a story. I had no prior ideas to this story, and this is exactly what came out of my typing for 15 minutes. Dedicated to my friend Phoebe, who recently moved to NYC. **

    When I was a little girl, my parents used to take me to the ice cream store in the small town we lived in. I remember my pap`a lifting me up to see all the different flavours the store had. I would always pick chocolate mint and let my father have some just because he lifted me up every time even though I always got the same flavour. 

    My father was very tall. He had tons and tons of freckles and mum would always tease him because she said he looked like a little schoolboy with so many freckles. I can remember telling mum not to tease him, that I thought he looked smashing. 

    Mum would always laugh whenever I said that. She was rather short and had long brown hair. Sometimes she would sweep me up in her arms and smile at me and just say, "How are you, love?" and everything would be fine. 

    After we would finish eating our ice cream, I with my chocolate mint, and mum and dad sharing a Knickerbocker Glory every now and then, I would skip along the cracks in the sidewalk, watching my parents over my shoulder in case I had accidentally stepped on one of the crevices. 

    I never wanted to break my mum's back. In fact, I never wanted my parents to leave me. We were such a happy trio, always laughing and sitting around just to be with each other. 

    Every Sunday we would sit in the living room and read the comics from the newspaper out loud. It was very funny when my dad would read, because he would strike a dramatic pose and mum would almost die laughing. Sometimes we drew pictures of each other with all sorts of wild colours. I still have the picture dad drew of all of us with green hair. He wasn't a very good artist, but it was still really funny. 

    This was before my parents died. Now I live with one of my uncles, in a very nice flat in London. My uncle is a very particular person, with his quirks like all of my family, but probably even more so. He works in a large office building sorting through papers and drinking tea. 

    He once took me to his office. I found it to be a large gray room with a big desk and a nice leather chair in it. My uncle smiled at me then and told me to go sit and look out the window. I did for a while, watching the people down in the cafe below. 

    On Wednesdays we go out to eat in a nice restaurant. The waiter there knows us and calls me Annie because I have red hair like my dad, even though that's not my name. I always order a Shirley Temple and roast chicken, and my uncle orders Chinese food. He gets 2 fortune cookies every time he does, and he always lets me have the other one. 

    When I first moved in with my uncle, we didn't really get along too well. Sure, we talked and were nice to each other, I guess we were still learning how to get along. I had to get along without my parents, he had to get along with me. My uncle is single, and he's never shared a flat with anyone else. 

    He says he once had a girlfriend, but broke up with her after she moved away. My uncle doesn't really go for the girls a lot. I secretly think it's because he's so picky. He likes details and my other uncles always kid around with him about that. I have loads of uncles. 

    I have only one aunt out of all of my uncles. She has red hair like the rest of the family, and when the uncle I live with is out of town or can't take me to a meeting, she takes care of me. My aunt likes to go shopping in Paris. We take the Chunnel and she takes me to all the stores simply so I can watch her try on pretty clothing. 

    She never buys anything, but we have such a marvelous time together. My aunt reminds me of my mum. Mum liked to try on clothing just for fun, too. 

    On holidays my uncle and I go to my grandmum's house, where my dad used to live. My grandmum is very kind and pretty, even though she's kind of old. Her red hair is turning gray, and I think it looks very pretty in the sunlight. 

    Grandmum makes cookies for us in the kitchen when everyone comes, and she lets me help her. My cousins prefer to build snowmen and have snowball fights outside. My uncle once asked me why I didn't want to go out and play in the snow, and I told him mum and dad wouldn't want me to get a cold. He got a funny look on his face when I said that. 

    Sometimes I lie awake at night thinking about my parents. I don't remember if I cried when I found out they were dead, and I can't decide if I should be sad and miss them. I know they wouldn't want that, but it seems so wrong not to be unhappy. 

    I don't want to be happy without my parents, because I don't want to forget them. I want them to always be there, laughing and sitting in overstuffed chairs with their arms open for me. 

    But I should go on. They wouldn't like it if I cried over them. I'm sure they'd say to me, "You mustn't forget us, but you must make new friends and be happy. Crying won't bring us back, sweetheart." I guess that would be what they would say. 

    Besides, my uncle promised he'd take me out for ice cream tomorrow. 


End file.
